


Healing Hearts - The Journey

by Lithuen



Series: Healing Hearts [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Family Reunions, Frerin has some unusual abilities, Gen, Mirkwood is creepy, PTSD symptoms, a distinct lack of riddles in the dark, dwarves have beads for everything, hunting accidents, im righting some wrongs here, magical fae blood, minor torture, possibly graphic injury, sort of, the quest begins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithuen/pseuds/Lithuen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Quest for Erebor is at hand, and a hobbit is exactly what fourteen dwarves need to make their company complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Promises

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two of Healing Hearts, and will follow the entirety of the quest for Erebor. Notice the archive warning. There will be at least one major character death, major being anyone listed in the character tags. I am not telling who, I think that would rather spoil the suspense. The story is going to be canon compliant for most of the journey, with a few exceptions, because I had ideas that needed adding. Also, the Bilbo in my story is very much not the Bilbo of Tolkien's world, so I hope you forgive me the alterations, and that you like him. With that long-winded speech out of the way, welcome to part two! It's time to go on an adventure!

Thorin sighed, reaching for yet another of the missives that had piled up on his cluttered desk. It had been many years since the Fell Winter as folk were calling it, but he felt as if they were still recovering. They had barely made it through the harsh season, and when spring had come at last it was as if the land itself breathed a sigh of relief. Prey had been slow to return, fruit trees had been damaged, and food remained hard to find for quite awhile, but the warmer weather had brought hope.

Continuing to idly scan the parchment as he let his thoughts run off into memory, Thorin was jerked back to the present as certain words glared off the page. ' _Thrain...spotted in Dunland...wandering_.' His heart skipped a beat, resuming its pace at a faster rate than normal. Could it be true? Could his father still be alive? There was no question what he would do now. He had to go looking. He had to be sure, because if there was even the slightest chance that he could bring his father home...

Slamming the paper down he headed decisively for his room, taking out a travel-stained cloak and serviceable bag. He carefully packed it with anything he might need, clipping his sword onto his belt and slinging the pack over his shoulder. All he needed to do was inform the family of his imminent departure and leave Balin in charge. Dis and Mara would have enough to do in his absence without having to worry about his duties, and he knew his long time friend would have his back in this.

He went to Balin first, the elder dwarf giving him an understanding smile and trying to hide the doubtful sorrow in his eyes that said he believed the trip to be in vain, but he knew why Thorin was going regardless. He next gathered his family in the sitting room, both Dis and Mara eyeing his travel gear with puzzled apprehension. He offered Mara a small smile of reassurance before turning to Dis, nervously anticipating her reaction to his news.

"I've received news," he announced lowly, his tone sending Dis into rising suspicion. She gave him a sharp look, waiting impatiently. "Rumor has it that Thrain, our father, was spotted wandering the wilds in Dunland."

Dis gasped, turning a strange shade of white before glaring at Thorin. "You told me you found his body outside Moria," she accused, tears falling unbidden from her eyes as Mara clasped her shoulders in rising worry. "You said he was so mangled I shouldn't even look, that you knew it was him!"

Thorin's eyes were filled with rising shame. "I told you that to spare you the grief. In truth we did not find him at all. The last I saw was him charging towards the gates. I felt certain that he was dead when he did not return, and it seemed naive to believe otherwise. I am so sorry, I just wanted to spare you the pain of living in fearful hope as I have all these years. I must be sure, if there is even a chance..."

Dis's anger melted into pained understanding. She knew her brother had precious little hope, though he would go still, and shoulder the load like every other he had taken upon himself for so long. She grasped him in a tight embrace. "Go then, and may you find him and bring him home," she whispered.

Mara hugged him next. "Come home safely to me," she ordered him sternly, prompting a smile to cross his rugged face. He nodded, murmuring a farewell for only her ears before turning to the three young men that stood before him. His nephews were full grown, his son nearly so, and all filled him with an intense jolt of pride. His heirs. He could not wait to show them to his father.

"Take care of your mothers," he instructed them, clasping all three by the shoulders firmly one by one.

He left the town behind without fuss, taking as little notice as possible as he headed south and into the wilds. The journey was long and arduous, filled with dead ends and nights spent hand on sword in unfamiliar territory. In the end he found nothing, no proof that there was any merit to the rumors whatsoever. He turned at last to make his way slowly home, arriving at Bree disgusted, tired and hungry. Night had long since fallen, and only the flickering of torch lights skimmed over the shadowed faces of the taller beings that meandered through the town at this late hour. Despite that, many were still out and about, ducking in and out of the tavern and going about their less legal business transactions where none were likely to see them. Thorin kept his hood covering his face and his hand on his sword hilt, discomfort thrumming through his veins.

Making the doorway of the inn, he at last allowed himself a sigh of relief, pushing back the sodden hood of his cloak and removing the heavy fabric before hanging it over a nearby rack to dry. He wound his way through the room, avoiding eye contact with the other patrons and ordering a meal in a low tone from the serving maid that had followed him to his chosen table. She delivered it promptly, leaving him to his food in relative peace, which he felt grateful for. Sometimes the wenches wanted to talk, interested in seeing a dwarf this far south, but he was not in the mood for that and it appeared this one was a perceptive sort.

Taking a large drought of ale, he began idly pulling apart the rich bread, hair prickling on the back of his neck. He felt like he was being watched, and lifted his head cautiously to glance around him. At first nothing seemed amiss. Men were crowded around the many tables littering the room, chatting and laughing with drinks in their hands. A spattering of smaller folk could be seen as well. Hobbits that shared the town with the men. They wove their way through the crowd with expert ease, accepting help only to clamber up on to the tall bar stools.

His cursory observation of the room almost completed, Thorin caught sight of a pair of unsavory looking characters at opposite corners of the room. They were not drinking or chatting, and they appeared in fact to be alone, if they were not with each other. He sensed that they were, and that their purpose was to no good as they rose from their chairs either side of him and began to approach. His hand drifted slowly to the hilt of his sword, placed in such a way that he could easily draw it within seconds. Thorin groaned inwardly, he had no wish to cause bloodshed in this establishment, but he would be damned if he allowed these vagabonds to get the best of him.

He was just about to confront the closer of the two when a tall figure slipped into the seat across from him. The newcomer had the immediate effect of driving off his would-be assailants, the men scowling and retreating from the tavern to find easier prey. Shaking off his startlement, Thorin knew instantly why the men had given up, for the grey-clad man that now eyed him expectantly was easily recognizable. They had only dealt with each other a handful of times in the distant past, when Erebor was still a kingdom instead of a ruin, but he remembered the wizard enough to know he could trust him.

"Gandalf," he sighed. "What brings you here? I feel I can safely assume this is no chance meeting?"

The wizard smiled wryly. "You would be correct," he confirmed agreeably. "I have a proposition for you, the same proposition I once made your father long ago." Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. "It is high time for the dwarves to take back Erebor," he advised a now gaping Thorin. "Gather your people, set out for the mountain. This I will aid you in doing, for the dragon concerns me greatly. It has sat there for far too long."

Thorin frowned thoughtfully even as he felt a thrill of anticipation from the wizards stirring speech. "The clans will not rally to me, you know this," he reminded the wizard. "Only the one who holds the arkenstone has that power, and it lies half a world away under a fire-breathing dragon."

"What if we could get it?" Gandalf asked mysteriously.

"That would certainly change things," came the immediate reply. "How?"

"We will need a burglar," Gandalf said with a smile. "That also I can get for you."

They spoke for a few minutes more, finalizing details and agreeing on a meeting place, and it was with lighter heart that Thorin retired to his bed for the night. Dreams of his lost kingdom ran through his head, the image of his son and nephews standing in the reclaimed mountain a thought that filled him with new hope.  
  



	2. Surprise Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves set out, leaving behind more than they know...

It was with mixed news that Thorin returned home to Ered Luin. He pulled his family and closest friends aside at once, waiting until they were all assembled to break the news.

"Did you find him?" Dis asked hopefully, despite the fact that she already knew the answer from the simple fact that their father stood not at his side.

Thorin shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing his forehead gently against hers in their renewed grief. "It seems it really was just rumor." His face inexplicably brightened then. "I have better news now however, for I bumped into a most unexpected person in Bree."

"What has happened?" Balin asked, taking in the eager expression of his king with surprise.

"Gandalf approached me," he began, his tone hushed now in a curious solemnity. "He has urged me to get a small company together, to go to Erebor and find the arkenstone, that we may reclaim our home!"

The dramatic speech was met with gasps of shock all around, many of the group staring at him in abject disbelief.

"Are you certain this is wise?" Dis protested. "We have a wonderful home here, we are safe and happy." She knew her voice shook but she could not fully contain her fear, knowing if her brother marched on the mountain her sons would follow.

To everyone's surprise Mara interjected, a smile of understanding on her face. "I think you should do it," she said firmly, Dis nearly choking in shock. Mara held up a hand, already offering an explanation for her reasoning. She turned to Dis. "Do you remember the day we met? You were telling me about Erebor."

The woman nodded, recognition flashing in her eyes as she called forth the memory. "You had a vision didn't you?" she said slowly. "You said dragons didn't live forever, but you never did explain that. What did you see?"

Mara chuckled. "I didn't explain at the time because I was confused. I saw Thorin, looking much like he does now, with a crown on his head. The skull of a dragon was at his feet and three men stood at his sides. Two of them looked exactly as Fili and Kili do now, the other looked like my Frerin, but of course at the time that really threw me for a loop. I had no idea who it was, so I didn't say anything."

"Then this quest will succeed?" Thorin whispered hopefully. "Your visions, are they always true?"

"They have not failed me yet," she said thoughtfully, "though at times they take interpreting and they can change. But as I have not seen a different version of that particular vision yet, I would think you have a fighting chance."

"With so much certainty we are with you for sure," Balin said, Dwalin nodding in agreement.

"We will go also," Oin and Gloin replied together, closely followed by Dori, Nori and Ori.

"Outta be a fun adventure," Bofur chimed in, echoed by Bombur and Bifur, the three of them having risen in Thorin's regard due to their friendship with Mara over the years.

"We can come too right uncle?" Fili and Kili asked nervously, awaiting rejection as they stood beside Frerin, the three of them clearly anxious to prove themselves. For a moment Thorin looked torn, his need to protect his family warring with the fierce desire to have his heirs at his side on the day when their homeland was reclaimed.

"Please adad," Frerin pleaded seriously. "We can help, it is our duty."

Thorin looked at the young men approvingly. They had grown up so fast. "Mahal," he chuckled. "Whenever did you become such strong warriors? Of course you must be by my side." All three were puffed up with pride, holding back their cheers of delight as they worked to maintain a strong disposition, accepting the approval with the grace of the warriors they had been named.

Plans began in earnest then, as bags were packed and ponies allotted. Thorin had informed them of Gandalf's offer of a burglar, and their chosen meeting place in the Shire. The company would head there in small groups as they finished what tasks they would need to complete before leaving. Affairs were put in order, families were informed, and an extremely put out Gimli and Bomfur were placated.

"You must stay here and help guard our people in our absence," their fathers patiently instructed them. "Your job may end up being the hardest of all." The boys cheered up marginally at being given such a heavy task, feeling the weight of responsibility and finding it good.

The company spent one last night in Ered Luin, and it was a tearful Dis and Mara that sent their sons off together. Dis slid a rune stone into each of her sons hands, Mara passing a similar trinket to Frerin, and the three marched off confidently, eager for the road and the adventure that would follow. "If you see any of my cousins tell them hello from me!" Mara called after them, pleased that they would get to see the peaceful lands before starting their journey proper.

Thorin had already left, and Mara recalled her farewell to him in private. It had been far more intimate, the couple spending the night talking about Thorin's memories of his home before resting in each others arms for a few blissful hours. Only the deep-seated surety that she would see him again had allowed Mara to let him go, but the impending separation still tugged painfully at her heart. No matter what happened it would likely be well over a year until they were reunited.

The two women tried not to dwell on the ones that were missing from the table as they shared a quiet supper, even as they eyed the empty chairs with longing. They ate slowly, sharing small anecdotes about their loved ones to fill the silence that had settled over the room, and taking comfort in the fact that at least they had each other.

Mara had just finished her meal and was rising to clean the plates when Dis saw a most peculiar expression cross her face. She almost looked to be in pain, her eyes laced with sudden panic before she darted out of sight.

"Mara?" Dis called worriedly, hurrying after her friend. "Is everything alright?" She caught up to the smaller woman just in time to see her retch the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet. She had only seen that happen once before in all the years they had known each other...

Mara faced her with a look of wry humor. "Oh dear."  
  



	3. Baggins or Took

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man in grey finds himself surprised upon meeting with a hobbit.

The familiar hills of his home came into view lit up by a lowering sunset. Bilbo had spent a relaxing two weeks in Rivendell, chatting with the elves and keeping his sindarin up to snuff, all while indulging in their rather extensive library. He had also taken the chance to join a few of their patrols, the taller beings finding the sight of him propped on one of their horses extremely amusing. He had been unable to ride the great beasts himself, but there was always a friendly hand there to sit behind him and guide the obliging animals around.

They had seen little combat in those times, and he had been restricted to watching even when they did encounter an enemy, but he managed to get in some practice with his sword all the same. It was a rather rough weapon, but he was very attached to it, and he staunchly refused a replacement whenever they offered. The elves only shrugged, not quite understanding his attachment to the little blade but too polite to question it. He ended up using it primarily in the training grounds, taking on any elf that would fight him and practicing occasionally with the young ward of Elrond. The human appeared very nearly at his majority in the years of his people, though his face was still quite young. It was his eyes that were old, telling of a hard life. His skill with a blade also spoke of long days on the road, the moves he utilized resembling those of the rangers that traveled the lands.

Now he was home again, and fairly glad of it. A brief respite was just what he needed before he began to plan where he might go next. He figured he would spend perhaps a good month or so telling stories to the children and working with the bounders, then he might leave again, letting his feet take him where they may. It did not have to be far. To Bree, or even the old forest, it mattered little as long as he was seeing things, experiencing as much life as he could while he had the chance. That was the lesson he had decided to take away from the fateful winter when his dearest treasures were lost to him.

It was all too easy to settle into his normal routine. Build up the fire, make a quick supper with fresh chicken from the market, sit before his hearth with a book, and then off to bed for a peaceful sleep. Then rise with the sun, a quick breakfast, and a pipe on the bench out front of his house.

It was there that he was sitting, puffing out a rather impressive set of smoke rings, eyes closed in contentment, when he received a most unexpected visitor. One minute he was relaxing, the next he opened startled eyes as a puff of his own smoke came back to hit him without explanation, wondering why the sun had suddenly disappeared. He was confronted with a tall figure, clothed in grey and wearing a pointy hat, the man looking down at him with evident curiosity. They stayed thus for a moment, Bilbo waiting politely for the other to speak, before deciding he obviously needed to take the initiative when the man remained silent.

"Good morning," he offered pleasantly enough, a cheerful smile on his face for this stranger that he had an odd feeling he should know. The man then broke into a curious monolog that left Bilbo rather flummoxed, ending abruptly and causing the hobbit to stutter a little in his confused response. He tried to wrap his head around what was said, something about wishing a good morning whether he wanted it or not, and being good and other such nonsense. Finally he resolved to go with the safest non-answer he could come up with. "All of them at once I suppose," he replied lamely, unsurprised when the man looked rightly disappointed. The man returned to examining him, not deigning to speak further, and it was making him oddly uncomfortable. He really felt like he knew the curious stranger, but any name he might have had was escaping him at present. "Do I know you?" he asked, an apologetic smile on his face when the man appeared even more disappointed than he had been previously.

This however seemed enough to get him talking, a fact for which Bilbo was grateful. He was running out of things to say to people that were familiar but not, and that stared at him so intensely. "You know my name, though you don't seem to remember that I belong to it," the man said indignantly. "I'm Gandalf, and Gandalf means...me!" A grand shrug accompanied the words, as if it should have been obvious from the start, and Bilbo nearly laughed at the over-dramatization, remembering at last.

"Gandalf!" he said cheerily. "It's been awhile since your last light show. What brings you back to these parts?"

The wizard harrumphed. "Well, I'm glad to know you remember something of me, even if it is only my fireworks. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure."

Bilbo blinked, his mind immediately tearing into excited ramblings. ' _You just got back_ ,' his inner voice tried to remind him, but he was ignoring that one, already far off down the road. "Really?" he asked excitedly. "What sort of adventure?"

To his surprise Gandalf did not respond at once, instead giving him a cryptic frown. "You are not what I expected, Bilbo Baggins," he said finally, though he looked pleased with what he had found, or as pleased as a mysterious wizard _can_ look at any rate.

"Took," Bilbo replied automatically. Gandalf offered him a quizzical look, clearly asking why he was disowning his father's name. "I love my father, bless his soul," he hurried to explain, "but I have far more of my mother in me I'm afraid. I'm really nothing at all like the rest of the Baggins, so it seemed odd to carry the family name when it represents me so poorly." The hobbit smiled easily, going back to the subject at hand as his mind screamed out questions that wanted answers all at once. "Now, about this adventure..."

Gandalf chuckled, enormously pleased with this turn of events. His reception was even better than he had hoped. "The company I have gathered is looking for a burglar to steal a jewel from under the very nose of a dragon," he announced importantly, a faint twinkle in his eye as the hobbit took in this particular bit of news.

"A dragon?" Bilbo asked incredulously, feeling surely the wizard was jesting. When the man didn't reply to this he shrugged. Best not worry about that for now. "What is this company like? When will they be arriving?" he asked instead, feeling this to be of far more import than things that were bound to come later.

"They are dwarves," Gandalf informed the nearly ecstatic hobbit. "I know not their exact number, but I would expect in the range of a dozen for supper this eve," he continued. Bilbo just nodded happily. Dwarves! This was marvelous! He had never met dwarves in person before, the reclusive race was hard to get near.

"I will have a meal ready and waiting," he assured the wizard, already going through items in his head to be sure he had enough food. This was where the Baggins in him did shine, all the lessons on hosting guests being recalled with perfect clarity.

"Excellent, I shall inform the others!" Gandalf replied. "If you don't mind, I shall place a mark on the door so that they may find the place easier," he requested, pleased when Bilbo stood back to watch in interest as he carved the rune for burglar into the green-paneled wood. The two parted ways, Bilbo to go to market and Gandalf to gather the company.

' _Took indeed_ ,' the wizard thought to himself amusedly, watching the little fellow trot towards the market, a smile on his face and a spring in his step.


	4. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hobbit has the night of his life, as figures from his bed time tales walk through his front door.

Clapping his hands together in satisfaction, Bilbo looked around his spacious dining room. He had expended every effort to make this evening a memorable one, for what was a hobbit if not the most gracious of hosts? It had taken a lot of work, but as he examined his handy work he was pleased to note that it impressed even him. His table was positively groaning with food of every kind, though he had made certain to keep the greens to a minimum, having heard that dwarves were not very partial to foods of the leafy variety. Barrels of his finest ale and wine were ready and waiting in the hall, right next to the cupboards that he had painstakingly dragged out to make more sitting room. He briefly despaired over the gouges running through his wood floor from his efforts, but ended up shrugging in the end. What were a few dents anyway? They could always be mended.

He was now pacing in anticipation, glancing out the parlor window every so often and watching as the shades of evening deepened to give way to nights darkness. Usually this was swiftly followed by another look at the table, just to be certain he had left nothing out. He was making one such check when the doorbell rang at last.

Dwalin son of Fundin was apprehensive to say the least. He remembered well their trip to the Shire all those years ago, and how the hobbits on this side of the river had run and hid from their approach. What was the wizard thinking, sending them to the shy people here? His very presence alone was likely enough to send one of the gentle creatures into a faint, and the thought secretly saddened him rather than causing disgust. He usually enjoyed being intimidating, it worked well for him, but when children and gentle folk shied away from his presence with distrust he could not help but feel the sting of rejection. These were the thoughts that plagued him as he reached forward and rang the bell outside a certain green door under the hill.

Heart thudding insistently, Bilbo pulled his door open, taking in the sight of the bald, tattooed, and very armed dwarf with utter fascination. The frown that was prominent on his face would have frightened lesser folk, but Bilbo could see that this newcomer was fighting a case of nerves himself, so he offered his brightest smile to put him at ease. The dwarf responded with a courteous bow. "Dwalin, at your service," he growled out, his face never breaking from its serious expression.

"Bilbo, at yours!" the hobbit replied happily, bowing in return as best he could and ushering his guest inside. "Come in, come in! Dinner is ready just through here. I hope your trip was a pleasant one?" he inquired.

Though Dwalin merely grunted a positive affirmation, his face had softened somewhat. This hobbit was not afraid of him, and that was most unexpected indeed. He did not look much like the soft creatures the dwarf remembered. This one was thin and bright-eyed, and very nearly muscular. At least by hobbit standards. He was presently staring at him while trying not to appear overly curious, and Dwalin was tempted to chuckle at the young mans eager expression. He settled himself down in one of the chairs he was offered, nearly gaping at the feast that was laid out, when the bell rang again.

"I'll get that not to worry!" Bilbo exclaimed, dashing off to make sure his newest arrival was not kept waiting on the stoop.

Balin looked around curiously as he trudged up the hill towards his destination, recalling fondly the memories he had of his last visit to the peaceful lands. It didn't appear to have changed a bit, and he could almost swear he had passed the small house where he once asked a young Bungo for directions. He wondered how the lad was doing now, him and his wild Bella. They would be fairly old now he reckoned, but it had been many years since they last exchanged letters with the couple. The house he was nearing was much larger, and seemed to be the most impressive one he had encountered, even including the Thain's residence on the other side of the river. He gave the bell a ring, listening with a smile to the rush of footsteps that pattered towards the door in answer.

Bilbo's next guest was older than the first, with a wizened, cheerful disposition. He had the look of a scholar, though the large mace strapped to his back suggested that he was just as much warrior as Dwalin. "Balin, at your service," the dwarf offered with a disarming smile and an elaborate bow.

"Bilbo, at yours," the hobbit returned again, figuring this was clearly a cultural thing. Perhaps he would be well versed in bowing by the end of the night if this were to continue nearly a dozen more times. That thought brought a grin to his face as he invited the dwarf in and was treated to the odd greeting his guests shared. They clasped each other by the shoulders and positively slammed their heads together, leaving Bilbo in awe of their structural fortitude. He sincerely hoped they didn't try that move on him! He was liable to be knocked out straight away.

No sooner had he seen that they were situated when the bell rang a third time, much more insistently. Either there was more than one person at the door or they were an impatient sort, and he scurried to yank it open before they bashed it in with their enthusiasm. It seemed his first guess was correct when he was greeted with three mischievous faces, all brimming with youth. The trio were nudging each other and shuffling around as they took in the sight of their first hobbit, sporting very similar excited grins. Two were dark haired, one golden, and that last seemed the eldest if their beards were anything to go by, for the other two had almost none to speak of. "Fili, Kili, and Frerin, at your service!" they chorused in a well-rehearsed chant, all bowing at once and nearly jumping through the doorway in their haste to get inside.

The longest ring of his bell so far had him regretfully abandoning the youths to the direction of their elders, after showing them where they could stow their gear while they relaxed. Bilbo pulled open the door only to have to jump back in surprise when eight dwarves tripped over each other and fell through his doorway. They must have been leaning against it, and he had to fight to suppress a laugh at their antics as he tried gallantly to help them up. Gandalf was with them, and Bilbo was quick to share his delight with the wizard, though it was coupled with worry over whether he had prepared well enough.

"Gandalf! This is wonderful!" he gushed. "But I'm not sure I have enough food, is everyone here now?"

The wizard took a minute to respond, counting the dwarves as he maneuvered his way through the low halls of Bilbo's house. "Not quite," he admitted. "It appears we are one short."

"He is late is all," Dwalin called out from amid the melee of food-tossing dwarves gathered around the feast. "He went to a meeting of our kin, he will come."

"Well, I'll just put some things aside for him then," Bilbo cried cheerfully, dodging biscuits and ducking edible projectiles as he piled a good selection onto a spare plate. He rescued it from out of the grasp of the others, shaking his head in amusement for their merry ways and placing it safely in a cupboard in his kitchen where it would remain undiscovered.

The next while was rather chaotic in Bilbo's opinion, though he would admit to enjoying himself immensely. The dwarves sang, played instruments, had food fights, and to his intense surprise did such a good job cleaning up after that he couldn't tell they had ever been there. He had only had one minor moment of concern when they began tossing around his mothers pottery, but it appeared they were very well coordinated, for not a single dish was cracked, nor glass chipped, and all ended up back in their rightful place undamaged.

Their merriment abruptly ceased at the sound of knocking on his door. Three deliberate thunks followed by a collective silence. It gave Bilbo the immediate impression that this final arrival was someone of fair importance, so he was careful to put on his most charming face as he slowly pulled the door open for the last time.

Thorin Oakenshield groaned in dismay when he saw that his destination was on the Hobbiton side of the river. Gandalf honestly expected to recruit one of these bumbling pacifists? This was going to be a travesty, he was sure of it. The closer he got to his journey's end, the more worried he became. The houses were getting larger, and he could already see the faint glowing of the rune-mark on the largest one of all. It appeared to belong to a family of some local importance, and unless things had changed drastically since last he came here that meant Baggins, the stuffiest of all of them. Mahal, what kind of joke was the wizard playing? He had half a mind to turn right around and head for home if the old man wasn't going to take his quest seriously. So it was in a considerably subdued state that Thorin ignored the bell in favor of venting some of his frustration on the brightly painted door.

When it opened he was treated to a most unexpected sight. The hobbit greeted him with a staggeringly bright smile, his dirty blond hair tumbling around a thin face that seemed filled by large green eyes. Eyes so alike to those of his son Frerin, and his wife Mara, that he quite forgot his voice.

"Bilbo lad, may I introduce you to the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said grandly as Thorin was ushered inside. His words had a shocking effect on the hobbit.

"Thorin? The same Thorin that traveled to fae valley with Belladonna Took?" he nearly yelled in excitement.

Thorin was now gaping at him in astonishment. "That's right," he agreed. "How do you know Bella?"

"She was my mother!" Bilbo said, a fond, though slightly pained smile crossing his face. "She used to tell me all about that trip, said it was her favorite."

"Well this is a fine turn!" Thorin said with intense relief. "You are practically family then, seeing as how you are distantly related to my wife, the last of the fae." The entire room was smiling, but then Thorin's grin died as he caught the tense in which Bilbo had referred to his mother. "Wait, you said was...?" he asked worriedly.

Bilbo looked apologetic when he responded. "I'm afraid my parents passed on nearly twenty five years ago," he informed them sadly, declining to go into further detail.

"I'm sorry lad," Balin offered from nearby, the rest of the company adding muted condolences. They could see his reluctance to address the subject so Balin only squeezed his shoulder and added a last request. "If ever you wish to talk about it, any of us will listen."

Bilbo's smile was heartfelt. "Thank you." He quickly brushed the last vestiges of sorrow from his eyes and turned to Thorin with a renewed grin. "Come on then, I'm sure you're hungry. This lot managed to nearly clean me out but I saved you a plate..."


	5. Contracts and Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo signs a contract, and morning brings unpleasant relatives to trouble the company.

Thorin was just polishing off an extremely satisfying meal when his closest friends felt they could wait no longer for his news. They were looking at him expectantly, and he shoved back a flash of sorrow at the disappointing report he would have to give. Most everyone had turned towards him, save for a few of the youngest. Bilbo had been tugged to a seat beside his son, the boy engaging him in soft conversation alongside his nephews. He smiled fondly at them for a moment, glad to see how well their newest member was already acclimating himself to the group. Balin drew his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Well laddie? What of the meeting? Did they all come?"

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," Thorin agreed, his mind momentarily going back to that rather disastrous meeting. It took a great effort to keep the disgust out of his voice, remembering how the others had simpered and offered polite, regretful rejection of his quest.

"What of the Iron Hills?" Dwalin rumbled hopefully. "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin shook his head sadly, distraught at having to crush his friends optimism. "They will not come. They say this quest is ours, and ours alone." Murmurs of disappointment passed around the table, skipping the hobbit who appeared to feel he was a little out of the loop. Thorin addressed him next. "How much have you been told Master Bilbo?" he asked patiently, hoping the man had at least been given a general idea of what they were doing, if not the specifics.

The hobbit smiled a little uncertainly, surprised to be so abruptly addressed. "Well... Gandalf mentioned something about stealing a jewel from a dragon?" he suggested, the disbelief in his voice indicating he hadn't taken much stock in the wizard's words.

"He speaks truly," Thorin nodded in agreement. "Long ago our homeland was stolen. Erebor is now under the duress of the great wyrm Smaug, and we need to regain possession of a certain jewel he has taken in order to command our armies to come to our aid in slaying the beast."

Bilbo was wide-eyed at this point. "The dragon is real?" he gasped softly, showing traces of mild apprehension. Not that any of the dwarves there blamed him. The thought of the beast was terrifying to most, and the fact that the hobbit had not fainted outright was a good sign in their opinion.

"Aye laddie, but that's really not our main problem right now," Balin interjected, his next comment directed to both Thorin and Gandalf. "Or have you two forgotten, the gate is sealed. There is no way in."

"That my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf said mysteriously, an old map and intricately wrought key appearing in his wizened hands.

Thorin gaped at them, torn between wry amusement and righteous indignation at the way the wizard continued to pull tricks out of his sleeve. "You did not show those to me at our last meeting," he accused, brow raised for want of explanation.

Gandalf merely coughed a little, puffing on his pipe and laying the map out properly. The key he slid into Thorin's hands, and the dwarf looked it over reverently before tucking it into his tunic. "There is a clue on this map," he said lowly. "Though I do not know how to find it, but it tells of a hidden door, another way into the mountain. If we can but decipher this clue we will be able to get inside."

"Alright," Thorin nodded. If he felt some slight misgiving over how exactly Gandalf intended to find said clue, he kept that to himself. Polishing off the last of his meal, he pushed the plate away with a contented sigh and signaled to Balin. "Give Master Bilbo his contract so that he can look it over," he commanded the dwarf.

Balin drew out a lengthy piece of parchment, handing it off to the hobbit who proceeded to skim through it rather quickly. He muttered to himself as he read, certain phrases coming out loud enough for the company to hear, but he appeared agreeable to what he was reading. "One fifteenth of all treasure to be payable at successful outcome... seems fair." He skimmed lower, his eyes widening incredulously as he opened up a different section. "Company not liable for any injury including laceration, evisceration... incineration?" he had turned to them then, brows raised, but the expected faint still did not come. He startled them by bursting into laughter. "This hardly seems like the way to try recruiting people," he gasped out, shaking his head at the endless details of what could possibly befall them.

"Perhaps not," Balin conceded with a mystified smile as to the lad's devil-may-care reaction. He exchanged a slightly concerned look with Thorin, both of them wondering if Bilbo was entirely all right in the head, for most people would have been apprehensive instead of amused. They turned their worry to Gandalf who just shrugged.

"Bilbo is a rather remarkable fellow," he offered lowly, not bothering to give any further assurance as to the hobbits state of mind.

They were distracted from their conversation when Bilbo handed the signed contract back to them. "Here you go," he said cheerfully. There was an almost collective sigh from the group, everyone relieved that he had not been deterred by the overly descriptive contract. They rose in groups, retiring to the sitting room to gaze into the blazing hearth. Bilbo was struck silent when the music began, not entirely sure from whom it had started. He could almost feel the words were bearing him off to some far away place, and the tragedy that had occurred there, and it made him feel all the better for having not hesitated to accompany them. The mournful tune was the last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep.

Hands shaking him with youthful enthusiasm were what brought Bilbo to wakefulness the next morning, and he looked up into the faces of the youngest members of the company. Thorin's nephews and son seemed more like three brothers, and he had felt an instant kinship with them, their fun-loving ways speaking to his own passions for adventure. "Morning Bilbo!" they exclaimed, stepping back so he could hop up from his makeshift bed on the chair where he had fallen asleep. He stretched with a lingering yawn, not nearly as uncomfortable as he could have been had he not been used to sleeping in unorthodox places.

"Morning boys," he responded happily, heading to the kitchen to see about breakfast, the three trailing after. Sun streamed in the window, lighting on his hair as he bustled around the room, gathering up the last foodstuffs he had in the house. He was glad he kept a separate pantry for his breakfast food, and that it had not been discovered last night. As it was it had been just enough to feed the whole crew.

They were heading out the gate and down the lane when Bilbo was accosted by a particularly grouchy female with what appeared to be a permanent scowl on her face. "Bilbo Baggins, where on this good earth are you off to now?" she asked, flicking his companions a reproachful glare, as if they were to be blamed for his flightiness.

Bilbo sighed, pasting the most reluctant smile on his face the group had seen from him yet. "Lobelia, my dear cousin, how nice of you to see me off!" he returned brightly.

"Don't you Lobelia me," she cried, wagging a threatening finger in his face. The dwarves stood back, not cowed by her, but realizing this was a private family matter. "Three times in the last month alone you've been out and about. Your house is going to fall into disrepair and you'll have no one to blame but yourself!"

"I expect I shall be gone for a good long while this time," he informed her, ignoring her tirade. "So it would be a great favor to me if you would care for the place until I return."

His announcement had an immediately pleasant effect, the woman closing her mouth with an astonished snap. The disapproval all but melted away in her shock, allowing Bilbo to get in a mild jab as he prepared to continue down the road. "Just don't steal my silver while I'm gone," he grinned, leaving the stunned woman with the key to his home in her hand.

"Well she seemed a right unpleasant sort," Gloin remarked as they went on their way. The sound of Bilbo's bright laughter was his only response, filling the air with his mirth and following them out of the Shire.


	6. New Recruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a hobbit is never one to back down from a challenge.

"So Bilbo, have you done much burgling before?" Kili asked with a wide grin, wanting to know more about their hobbit. Fili and Frerin flanked him, surrounding the object of their curiosity as they walked down a sunny path towards the stables. The mounts they had put aside were waiting there, along with packs full of supplies. Bilbo noticed that they were not the only ones paying attention. Ori walked nearby, the studious dwarf awaiting his response eagerly even as he craned his neck to try and take in all the new scenery at once.

"Well, I don't know if it would be considered burglary as such, but I have pilfered my share of sweets off windowsills," Bilbo replied modestly, unable to hold back the mischievous smile that some of those memories prompted. "Why I remember the time I took an apple cake right from under Lobelia's nose... To this day I'm still not sure she knows it was me!"

His anecdote was met with a smattering of laughter that was interrupted by Gandalf's amused voice cutting back to them from the front of the group. "I seem to recall stories of a certain farmer who was particularly vexed by all the crops that went missing from his fields. Kindly remind me if you would young Bilbo, how high was the reward for information? Several gold pieces?"

"Oh now," Bilbo blushed with embarrassment. "I haven't stolen from him since I was a tween." He turned thoughtful then for a moment. "You know he almost caught me once. I had to shove an entire bushel of carrots down the back of my trousers. I'm lucky I decided to play adventurer that day, it was only my cloak that hid the bulge!"

His confession nearly had the dwarves rolling in hysterics, a few of them going into their own tales. It made for a merry morning, swapping stories of daring do and pretend heroics.

As midday rolled around their pace increased, the ponies carrying them easily along the trail. The dwarves had been impressed by how well Bilbo could ride, remarking on it when he let the restless mount gallop around them for a moment, testing her paces. He ended up settling the little mare to a steady trot beside Thorin, wanting to get to know their illustrious leader better. For just a moment he glanced over almost shyly, but his natural curiosity won out with ease.

"Would you tell me about your wife?" he asked, green eyes positively glowing with interest. "My mother mentioned her a few times, but she wasn't able to say much."

Thorin nodded, a smile crossing his face. "Your mother and my wife could nearly have been sisters," he admitted with a grin. "Except for those pointy ears and unnaturally large feet of yours," he teased, chuckling when Bilbo responded with a good-natured snort.

"There is nothing wrong with my feet," he retorted. "Yours are just too small and delicate," he added, faking a pompous attitude.

"Hmph," Thorin snorted in answer to the mild insult. "Mara is always cheerful, and very outspoken. I was sick when we met, and she gave me a right talking to, not having any idea who I was. I'll admit I found it quite refreshing at the time."

"Then you don't like being King?" Bilbo wondered aloud, eyeing him curiously.

Thorin shrugged. "It's not my station that I mind exactly, it's more the distance that it creates between others. Most people don't seem to know what to say to me, or don't care to try and interact on any personal level. That has changed a lot since I met Mara. She helped bridge the gap so to speak, and I continue to be thankful to her for that."

"Well, I cannot begin to understand the position you're in, but I am glad you found someone," Bilbo responded honestly.

"What about you?" Thorin inquired suddenly, breaking the moment of comfortable silence that had been stretching between them.

Bilbo blinked. "What about me?"

"Any special lass waiting for you back home?" he hinted, eyes narrowed slyly at the flush that appeared on the hobbits cheeks.

"N-no not exactly," Bilbo stammered. "In fact..." he glanced sideways at the dwarf. "I am beginning to think I lean the other direction," he offered, "but it's frowned upon so I have never thought about really looking."

Thorin barked out a short laugh. "You'll fit in right well with us then," he reassured the disconcerted hobbit. "We have very few women, so many of our men end up in pairs, either for simple companionship or something more. Actually," Thorin mused, casting a glance back at the group of jolly company members. "Apart from myself, Balin, Gloin, and Bombur, none of the company are attached to anyone."

"Oh!" Bilbo let out the muted exclamation, cautiously observing the company with new eyes. He flushed slightly deeper when Ori offered an excited wave, sending the dwarf a weak smile in return before facing the front again.

By evening Bilbo had forgotten any nervousness he felt at being surrounded by so many potential eligible men and was getting comfortable on a log around the glowing fire. He laughed along with the jokes that were being told, enjoying himself immensely, when he found himself suddenly confronted with calculating eyes. "So, you're supposed to be the burglar," Nori drawled, looking teasingly doubtful. "I gotta say, I can't see it. You don't look like you could sneak up on anyone."

"Nori here's got a bit of a reputation as a thief," Fili explained with a laugh as Dori and Dwalin scowled at the younger dwarf, the one in question looking especially smug. "He's mildly peeved that his skills weren't considered good enough for this quest."

Never one to back down from an obvious challenge, Bilbo smirked at him. "Bet you I could sneak up on and steal from anyone in this company," he said softly for Nori's ears alone. The dwarf's eyes gleamed in anticipation of a bet, roving over the members to give Bilbo an acceptable target.

"Dwalin," he muttered, leaning back against the log with a confident air. Bilbo nodded thoughtfully, turning his attention to the large dwarf with a subtlety that only a hobbit could master.

Gandalf was the only one to give him a knowing look the next morning, a twinkle in his eye, when Bilbo tossed one of Dwalin's knuckle dusters to Nori over their breakfast bowls. Its owner was gaping nearly as widely as its recipient at the knowledge that it had left his hands sometime while he slept, and he none the wiser.


	7. Into the Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories are told on a cliff side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for being away for so long my dear readers. If any of you are still out there I am going to start posting again, and all the chapters for this segment are already complete, so you can expect one nearly every day to make up for my long absence. My only excuse is that life has been complicated since I last posted, and I rather lost my motivation for a good while. I'm feeling better now, and I'd like to try and get the rest of this story out to you.

Bilbo was in high spirits as they continued through lands he was well familiar with. This was the first time his travels had included any companions, and he found no end of opportunity to make friendly conversation with the dwarves he had longed to meet for years. It was something of a thrill for him, to have the characters out of one of his mother's fireside tales sprung to life before his eyes. They were even more impressive than she had made them, and he continued to delight in the good fortune, or perhaps just a meddling wizard, that had brought them to his door.

  
Their journey was now leading them out of the Shire proper, but these woods and plains were still known territory to the hobbit who had traveled farther than most of his kin. Bilbo was relaxed and calm in these surroundings, made more pleasant with the sound of boisterous song and laughter coming from his comrades. He would join them when it was a tune he knew, and sometimes even spouted out his own melodies when prompted, the dwarves cheering for his rousing bar songs. Never let it be said that hobbits did not know how to have a good time, after all. Their lives were dedicated to making merry and singing was just one small part of that.

They had made a short stop for lunch when the first dwarf Bilbo had ever met approached him. Dwalin was staring at the short sword he had belted to his waist, looking upon it with approval, but also a little curiosity. "Do ya know how to use that lad?" he barked out, indicating the focus of his question with a casual wave of one broad hand.

Bilbo let out a short laugh, nodding. "Well enough I suppose," he assured the warrior. "I've taken out my share of lone wolves during my travels. Though, I haven't ever seen proper combat as such," he continued thoughtfully. "Perhaps you can give me a few pointers."

Dwalin was about to respond when an arm was draped over the hobbits shoulder. "We can show you, can't we lads?" Fili offered with a cheeky grin, two matching smiles on the faces of his brother and cousin who were right behind him.

"Ha!" Dwalin snorted. "I'll run you through some training," he agreed. "Those three will just get you into trouble." Indignant shouts nearly drowned out his further jibes against their skills. "After all, weren't it just last week I knocked you off yer feet boy?" the older dwarf taunted Fili, a brow raised in challenge.

"It will be the last time," the golden-haired prince responded, eyes narrowing as he smiled mockingly. Many of the elder dwarves laughed at this, ribbing the prince even as his comrades leaped to his defense. Bilbo just shook his head with a smile, remounting his pony when the call came out to move on.

Evening was darkening the sky to red and purple when they made camp on a sheltered cliff side. They were well and truly into the wild by this point, and it was nice to settle in for the night after a long day of travel. Stretching sore muscles, the group dismounted and tethered the ponies nearby, after which they went about their nightly chores. Wood was gathered and a fire built, the flames licking hungrily into the sticks and sending cheerful sparks to the skies. Shadows played across the faces of the company as they devoured the filling meal they had put together, most of it consisting of roast rabbit that Kili and Frerin had caught along the way.

Everyone was settling down for the night when Bilbo crept over to his mount, offering the gentle creature an apple in a gesture of friendship. The pony took it happily, making the treat disappear in a few swift crunches before nickering softly in pleasure. He murmured soft words to her, stroking the furry nose and smiling happily. He had a feeling the pony (who he had named Myrtle), and he would get along just fine.

Bilbo was just turning to head back to the fire when a sharp screech pierced the night air, filling his bones with dread as it called to mind nearly-forgotten memories. The sound was harrowing, a noise of frightening promise, and Bilbo could not suppress the shudder that wracked him.

"You all right laddie?" Balin asked in concern.

Bilbo nodded hurriedly. "I'm fine, just heard orcs a minute ago." He was working to clear the panic from his face, unaided by Fili and Kili's rather loud discussion of what said creatures would do should they find their camp. Bilbo knew all too well what might happen, he had seen the carnage they wrought first hand.

Their talk had brought Thorin lurching to his feet, his momentary worry for the company replaced swiftly with irritation at the antics of his nephews, and his son who was sniggering in amusement.

"You think that's funny?" he growled angrily, cowing them instantly to silence. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

"We're sorry," the three mumbled dispiritedly. "We didn't mean anything by it."

"No, you didn't," Thorin scathingly retorted. "You know nothing of the world." He stalked to the edge of the cliff, his back to them, shoulders tense as memories of his own flooded back. Regret filled the faces of the young dwarves, and Balin took pity on them for it.

"Never mind lads. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs." He went into a stirring speech about the battle for Moria, his sorrowful tone and misty eyes haunted by the past as he wove the tale. Bilbo could feel a stirring of anger in him for the loss the king had endured, coupled by his own. Those creatures had a lot to answer for, and he vowed that given half the chance he would exact his own vengeance, even if he had to train for years.

The sounds of the far-off enemy faded into the darkness near the end of Balin's tale, leaving only silence when Thorin turned to face them. No one was left feeling anything short of awe at the feats he had performed, the lengths he was going to in order to give his people a new chance. It stirred the hearts of everyone there, nearly all the group having subconsciously gotten to their feet in a gesture of solidarity and respect.

Only Bilbo caught the shared glance of Balin and Gandalf when mention was made of the demise of Thorin's most hated enemy. He curled into his bedroll with a tingle of fear running down his spine, knowing somehow that the pale orc was not dead. He sent a silent prayer up to the watchful stars, that they would remain hidden and safe, even as he felt certain it was not to be.


	8. Tricking Trolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mud fights, pony thievery, and a little weapons reclamation.

Rain. Not such a bad thing when it was thrumming on the roof, or streaming down the window while one was curled up before a roaring fire. The sound would be soothing, providing a steady backdrop of white noise that spoke of comfort and renewal. The cleansing waters would leave behind a fresh smell that awoke the senses and encouraged all the growing things to drink deep and flourish.

All these things were largely forgotten when one was trapped under a steady downpour while wrapped in naught but a cloak over thin clothing. The cold streams were unrelenting, sending rivulets of icy water running down the back of their necks and turning the ground to mud. Many of the dwarves had dismounted after a time, lessening the strain on their tired mounts as they trudged slowly through the deluge. It was not yet a storm, but neither did it give any indication of nearing its end. The elder members of the company were becoming increasingly grouchy with this development, grumbling to themselves as they dreamed of hearth and home. There was not even a warm meal or a dry bedroll to lift their spirits for the next four days.

The younger dwarves and Bilbo were in remarkably better moods than their older counterparts, and were laughing as they kicked the sludge around with their feet. None of them would be certain later who had thrown the first mud ball, but it very quickly progressed into a full on mud battle between the four giggling youths. Ori was the only one to leave off, his elder brother shielding him from the fight with a glare back at the grinning combatants. They were careful to contain their antics to the immediate area, using precise throws to avoid hitting anyone else. The fight was still going full swing when Bilbo slipped, landing flat on his back as the handful of mud he carried flew through the air, only to hit Thorin in the back of the head with a resounding smack.

The entire company stopped at the sound, Thorin stiffening as he slowly reached back and felt for the muck that was oozing down his tangled mane. He turned abruptly, glaring down at the wide-eyed Bilbo that was still sprawled on his rear. The hobbit was nearly unrecognizable, his entire form swathed in clinging mud. "S-sorry," he stammered, hands pressed either side of his mouth as the strangest expression worked across his face. The look Thorin graced him with was priceless, the strangled giggles from behind causing Bilbo to lose control as he burst into helpless laughter.

Swinging back to face the front, Thorin hid a smile as he increased their pace. "I suggest you get back up master Bilbo, if you become lost in the mud I do not think we will ever find you again," he called back.

"Let him off easy," Dwalin muttered at his side with a grin. Thorin only flicked the residual mud off his hands at his friend's face in response, suppressing a snigger of satisfaction when Dwalin was left spluttering indignantly.

The stream they found the next morning was a welcome sight, and the company lost no time in getting stripped down, bringing their dirty garments into the water with them to be cleaned. The rain had finally abated, and the day was promising to be a fine one. They washed quickly, not lingering long enough even for their clothes to dry. Wet shirts and trousers were draped over the backs of the ponies, spare clothes being pulled out and put to good use as they hastened to cover more ground. They were still quite damp when they reached a suitable campsite in the late afternoon. An abandoned farmhouse lay in a clearing in a state of considerable decay, but as the space was large enough to accommodate them they took advantage of it readily.

Bilbo had been as surprised as everyone when Gandalf stormed out of the camp, stating his annoyance with all around him, but the group did not remain subdued for long. Stew was simmering in the pot over the crackling flames, and it was impossible to be upset with the smell of Bombur's cooking wafting under their noses.

"Here Bilbo, take this to the lads will ya?" Bofur asked him cheerfully, handing the hobbit two brimming bowls. He hurried off with his burden, winding through the trees towards where Fili and Kili were watching over the mounts. The two did not acknowledge his presence, staring intently into the vastness of the forest as they strained their ears worriedly.

"Something the matter?" he asked, jiggling the bowls a little in the hopes that they would take the hint and relieve him of their supper.

"We're supposed to be watching the ponies," Fili began.

"Only we've encountered a slight problem," Kili continued, before stopping.

"Well, go on," Bilbo encouraged them when no more was forthcoming.

"We had sixteen." That was Fili again.

"Now there's fourteen," Kili finished. "Daisy and Bungo are missing," he added, heading through the trees to begin a proper investigation. They came across the remains of a brutally uprooted tree, and the three began feeling the stirrings of wrongness from the area. They weren't long in spotting the flickering light of a campfire not their own, and hurried to get a closer look, swearing when the deep voices of trolls reached their ears.

Somehow Bilbo found himself volunteering to retrieve their stolen mounts while the brothers hurried to gather reinforcements. "Just in case," they had said together before pushing him towards the camp. Drawing his little sword, Bilbo snuck as quietly as he could towards the fire. He could see two massive creatures sitting around the blaze, the pot they were balancing over the flames emitting an odorous stench. Keeping a careful eye on them, Bilbo began to saw gently at the ropes that held the ponies, only to drop the weapon with a squeak of dismay as he was hauled up by his ankles.

He could see from this new and uncomfortable position that he was facing not two but three adversaries, and now he was unarmed. Heart thumping in his chest, he felt the blood begin to rush to his head as they bickered about what to do with a pony-stealing squirrel, and only his immediate danger stopped him from telling them off for the perceived insult.

"Let him go!" a sudden voice rang out, drawing all their attention. Bilbo focused on the grimly determined face of Kili, never so glad as he was right now to have the mischievous dwarf come to his rescue. To his surprise the trolls complied with the order, flinging him none too gently through the air to land on top of his savior with a hefty thump. Countless figures materialized around the downed pair, weapons up and war cries ringing off lips as the company charged to their aid.

As soon as he was able Bilbo snuck around the dueling masses to retrieve his weapon, losing no time in freeing the ponies. He waved his arms wildly, spooking them into running out and away before heading back into the fight. Bilbo was dismayed to find that the weapon that worked all too well against wolves was not so very good at cutting through troll flesh, and he wanted to cry when his blade actually snapped against one of their thick legs. The troll had felt the useless blow, and he suffered the swooping sensation of becoming airborne once again, albeit upright this time, his arms and legs stretched between two of the beasts.

Bilbo had never felt so guilty as he did when he looked around at the company some minutes later, half in sacks, the other half protesting their treatment vehemently as they turned slowly over the large fire. He felt certain it was up to him to get them out of the mess he had bungled them into, and he began his distractions at once. He was careful to keep a straight face when he began describing the proper way to cook dwarf, unable to send so much as a reassuring wink in the direction of his companions.

Thankfully, just as he was beginning to run out of ideas, Gandalf turned up with his trusty staff and managed to flood the clearing with daylight, turning the trolls to stone. The group let out sighs of relief and hearty cheers as they composed themselves. Bilbo struggled out of his sack quickly, going over to the sad remains of his weapon and picking up the pieces. The blade he tucked back into its sheath, the hilt he managed to strap over it, making it seem to be whole again.

"Best leave that behind," Thorin advised him gruffly, an unreadable expression on his face. "A broken sword will do you no good."  
Bilbo shook his head, tucking it into his pack. "I can't," he explained. "It was my mothers." Though he offered no more explanation, it appeared Thorin understood, for he inclined his head, something akin to sympathy in his blue eyes.

It was merely a stroke of luck that Gandalf managed to find him a replacement weapon amongst the troll horde, and Bilbo took it with a feeling of satisfaction. The trolls had taken his weapon, so he was fully entitled to one of theirs.


	9. The Fruits of Labor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's check up on those that were left behind, shall we? A quick look at what the womenfolk are up to before we head back out into the wilds.

Back in Ered Luin Dis was waking up to another busy day. She sighed as she thought of the paperwork that her brother and Balin usually handled. It was so very dull and tiresome, and had quickly become the bane of her existence. She would be grateful when the time came to put it aside and take physical action of any kind, whether it be the move to Erebor or simply pulling in part of the harvest.

Luckily the latter was a viable option. The garden was bursting with ripe things to eat, and they would all need to be gathered in before the frost hit, so she would have a very reasonable excuse to be outside for the better part of the day. Thus saving the tedium of policy and other nonsense for the evening, when the chill began to set in and drive everyone indoors. Everyone, of course, consisting of herself and Mara right now while the menfolk were away.

Speaking of Mara, she was beginning to feel rather concerned over her friend. It had been nearly two months since the departure of the lads, and her friend was progressing faster than she should be. Or so it seemed. She had faithfully consulted the book that Balin had left behind on Mara's people, trying to glean some insight as to why, but no certain explanation was forthcoming. They could only hazard a guess, and it was almost too much to hope for. Practically unheard of in fact. Dis knew that for dwarves if one was getting larger faster it signaled twins, but such cases were extremely rare. Even rarer still did they end well, but she pushed those negative thoughts out of her mind, heading to the stove to cook breakfast.

As she had expected, the smell of eggs and bacon drew Mara from her meditation, the woman padding into the room in her bare feet, a robe wrapped snugly around her growing form. "Only four days this time," Dis greeted her cheerfully, placing a generous helping in front of her.

"Oh good," Mara mumbled through her current mouthful. "I really don't like being out of it so much, I'm starting to feel like an invalid."

"Do you want to go out today?" Dis asked her. "We could pick some of the vegetables from the garden."

"I though you were going to be doing apples this week," Mara said confusedly, knowing despite her regret that she could no longer assist with the delightful task. She was too heavy and cumbersome to get into the branches of the trees, having given up just last month when she slipped on the first branch. She had earned herself quite the scolding for that careless act, so she now contained herself to being on the ground.

Dis shrugged easily. "It doesn't really matter. The apples can wait and I'd like to spend time with you. I'm sure the air will do you good."

"Sounds like a plan then," Mara smiled, getting to her feet with a mild groan and fetching a small basket from the cupboard. It was of a size that she could carry it even when full, though she would have to make several trips to unload it if she were to get any real progress done today. She settled herself down in the dirt, within reach of plenty of ripe tomatoes, glad that she was wearing a darker colored gown. The tangy smell of the red orbs was very pleasant, and she could not resist polishing the dust off of one and having a light snack.

Dis laughed nearby. "Mahal, didn't you have enough breakfast?" she teased gently.

Mara flushed in embarrassment. "It just smelled so good I had to eat it," she confessed.

"For me it was apples," Dis admitted with a wry smile. "I ate so many of them that Fili can't stand sight nor smell of them at all. I was always snacking on one, and cooking them into things. Apple sauce, apple pie, apples in salad. I even tried putting them in soup once, but that didn't go over well with the others," she chuckled, remembering the looks of disgust when she had unveiled her newest invention. Needless to say, apple soup was not one of their staple dishes anymore.

They were still in the back, now relaxing over a light repast when a familiar voice called out as it rounded the house. "Yoohoo! Anyone home?" They both turned to wave to Lona, sharing a smile at the sight of Gimli trudging reluctantly behind her. He appeared quite eager to sink into the ground, obviously wishing he were anywhere but there.

"Welcome you two, come join us!"

Lona settled herself down between them, sighing when Gimli continued to stand awkwardly near the trees, looking disgruntled. Ignoring him, the woman turned to them happily, setting down the bundle she had been carrying. "I brought cookies," she grinned, delighting in Mara's eager appreciation for the offering. "So lass, how are you faring?"

"Oh you know, the usual. Hormones going haywire, hot flashes, muscles aching," she laughed, only half joking. Gimli emitted a strangled noise of protest, acutely uncomfortable with the current topic, so Mara turned her attention to the young warrior. "How are you, Gimli dear?"

"M'fine," he muttered, face reddening as he shuffled his feet in the dirt. He had long grown out of his childish enthusiasm for anyone who would pay him attention, much preferring to spar with his friends over holding polite conversation with womenfolk. He seemed to be suffering from some sort of internal conflict for a moment before he turned pleadingly to his mother. "Amad, please can I go do some sparring with Bomfur? Please, for the love of Mahal, don't make me stay here," he begged.

Lona gave him a warning look. "Gimli, remember what we spoke about," she said sternly.

The young dwarf sighed. "Must I?" Lona just raised a brow silently, and Gimli let out a huff of air. "Oh all right." He turned to Mara and Dis, forming his expression into something meant to look polite, though it ended up just looking strained. "It would be my honor to assist you with any chores around here that you might need help with," he forced out quickly.

The women valiantly tried to hold back giggles, Dis and Mara exchanging looks as they thought up a response that would please both mother and son. Somehow over the course of their friendship they had graduated to silent conversations at times, seeming to know the others thoughts, so Dis spoke for them, feeling confident that Mara would agree. "Well, we don't need much at the moment," she began, holding up a hand when Gimli brightened considerably. "But," she continued, the lad's face falling again. "We could really use some meat sometime soon, we are running low. If you wanted to do a spot of hunting that would certainly be most welcome."

At her request Gimli looked much pleased. "Really? I can do that! I'll take Bomfur and we'll go right now!" He turned to head off eagerly, swinging back around at the last minute. "That is if you are done with me?" he asked hesitantly. At their agreement he ran off with a grin.

"It was nice to see you!" the two called after him, laughing when all they got in reply was a haphazard wave as he rounded the corner.


	10. Interlude With Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brown wizard, very bad dogs, and a rather predictable escape. Please note that italics indicate Sindarin being spoken.

"Someone's coming!"

Thorin's shout of warning echoed through the clearing, following swiftly after the sudden flight of birds disturbed from their rest. Gathering together, the company moved as a unit through the trees, weapons out as they prepared to defend against the threat. Countless thoughts ran through their heads, none coming even slightly close to reality when the curious figure that was approaching revealed itself.

Snapping branches and the thudding of rapid footsteps left them all tense, and the group nearly jumped out of their skins when sound was given form. A strange sled drawn by overly large rabbits came careening into their immediate vicinity, its driver screeching something terrible.

"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" The tall man yanked the sled to a violent stop, eyes wild under his dirty brown hat. He wore robes to match, and carried a gnarled staff that looked similar in appearance to Gandalf's. At his appearance the wizard in question relaxed visibly, lowering his staff to rest on the ground as he approached the newcomer.

"Radagast! Whatever are you doing here?" he asked lowly, frowning in concern as his friend continued to struggle for words.

The company moved off a ways, allowing the wizards to have some privacy for their conversation, and trying to shake off the unease that something else was not right. Bilbo was feeling especially jumpy, his ears nearly twitching as he listened for any sound that might back up his discomfort.

"Alright there Bilbo?" Frerin asked him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. A howl from close by interrupted Bilbo's response, the hobbit stiffening in fear, his eyes seeming to retreat into a nightmare. Suddenly he shook himself from his trance and threw himself into Frerin, knocking the dwarf to the ground. "Durin's beard Bilbo, what...?" the dwarf squawked indignantly, stilling as he heard the low growl. The company looked up as one, to see a warg standing right where Frerin had been only moments before, unaware of the danger.

With a snarl the beast leaped at them, and somehow Frerin managed to extricate his arm from under Bilbo's shaking form, slashing at the attacker with his sword. He downed it with Dwalin's help, and the one that followed after was shot to the ground by Kili, Thorin making sure it was dead. Once the immediate danger had passed Frerin tried to get to his feet, only to look up pleadingly as the hobbit remained prone over him, trembling and pressing his face into the dwarf's chest. "Umm, Bilbo?" he asked haltingly. "You're sort of crushing me."

"Are they gone?" the hobbit replied, his voice muffled in the fur trimmed jacket Frerin wore.

"Aye, but we don't have much time," Thorin broke in, pulling Bilbo to his feet as Fili and Kili assisted their cousin, yanking his clothes back into place and teasing him mercilessly. A small shoving match began, ending as swiftly as it had started when Thorin leveled them with a glare. "Boys, enough. Those were warg scouts, which means an orc pack is not far behind," he said grimly.

His words proved true, and the company was forced into a swift run through the plains, their mounts having sensed the danger far sooner and bolted for safety. Dodging around rocks and skimming over the uneven terrain, they tried to take advantage of the lead Radagast had given them through his diversion. It didn't last. Before long they were running in earnest, the enemy having given up chasing the swiftly retreating wizard and going for easier prey. Not even the combined efforts of Frerin and Kili's archery was driving them back, and soon they were surrounded.

It was Gandalf that rescued them again, popping up from behind a boulder and summoning them with a sharp yell. "This way you fools!" The dwarves were quick to follow him into the tunnel he had uncovered, Bilbo fast in the lead. None too soon it seemed, for only moments later a ringing horn call sounded from above, and the sounds of someone engaging their enemy rang through the plains. One of the slain orcs tumbled down to where they were hidden, coming to rest at Thorin's feet, and he yanked the arrow out of its neck in disgust.

"Elves," he cursed, looking darkly above as he tossed the shaft aside.

Bilbo gave him a small frown but didn't comment, instead following Gandalf as the group decided to take the path they had been offered. The hobbit knew exactly where they were headed, and it was difficult to keep from smiling, especially when they broke out into the open and the familiar waterfalls and soothing atmosphere of Rivendell came into view. They climbed down into the valley by means of a small path, ending up in a courtyard bordering the sanctuary. Bilbo was entirely at his ease even as the dwarves huddled closely together, their faces closed off with suspicion and unease.

That feeling only doubled at the sound of swift horses approaching, and the same horn from before. "Close ranks!" Thorin ordered fiercely, placing Bilbo in the center of a protective circle of weaponry.

"Oh really," the hobbit huffed in annoyance, shoving his way out to the front of the group as he saw who was in the lead of the procession. "Lord Elrond!" he called out cheerfully. "Mae govannen mellon nin!" (well met my friend) Behind him the dwarves lowered their weapons a fraction, grumbling in disapproval of this interaction.

"Master Bilbo!" Elrond smiled in amusement. "We saw you no more than a fortnight ago, whatever brings you back so soon?"

Bilbo just laughed. "I found myself some new traveling companions more my size," he joked, pleased to hear some of the dwarves sniggering in approval. " _I'm afraid they are a little on edge being here_ ," he admitted, drawing an understanding nod from the tall elf.

"Come," Elrond beckoned to them regally. "There is food and sleep to be found here. Rest easy and know that none who seek refuge in this valley shall be harmed. Especially if they are friends of master Bilbo." His words were enough to break the tension, and Gandalf smiled proudly at the hobbit who had managed to put them at ease. Thorin was even smiling, shaking his head in wry amusement.

"What's so funny?" Bilbo asked him, confused with how rapidly he had changed his tune.

"I should have expected this," the dwarf admitted with a chuckle. "When we met your mother she had just gotten back from a visit here. Like mother like son as they say."

"Aye," Balin interjected. "It seems you can help us in more ways than one."


	11. Lightning Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood in the snow is bad news for a hobbit, and so is lightning in the sky...

It was just a cut. Something so insignificant should not inflict such trauma. Just a little cut.

They had long since left Rivendell behind at the behest of the wizard, Gandalf promising that he would catch them up as soon as he could. They traveled across rock and plain, through forest and over stream, until their path led nowhere but up. Up into the cold heights of the misty mountains. Despite the fact that it was summer the ground was covered in a light layer of snow at their current elevation. It was never summer here, with the wind whistling and their breath blowing ahead of them in clouds of white.

The company did what they could to stay warm, marching through the day, building large fires at night, and sparring in the evenings, when the light of the setting sun sparkled off the snow. Bilbo had been taking lessons from Dwalin, Fili, Gloin, even Thorin. He improved upon his limited skill by leaps and bounds, learning new techniques and bettering old ones. Around him the others would spar, enjoying the good-natured battles that kept their abilities sharp.

That was how they had gotten to this. Fili and Kili had been dueling one such night when Kili slipped, his foot hitting a stone buried under snow and skidding out from under him. Fili had been unable to stop his blades in time, the closest one barely nicking the skin of Kili's wrist and sending a splash of crimson to rest in the untouched powder. It should have been nothing, and in all honesty it really was nothing, Kili was already getting to his feet, laughing it off and calling for a bandage. The only thing that alerted them that not all was well was a quiet gasp from the hobbit.

Bilbo stared at the discolored snow, transfixed as his nearly-forgotten past flooded his mind with frightening clarity. Images of corpses and blood-stained white held him hostage, his parents staring with empty eyes at the unforgiving sky. He did not know that he was shaking, did not realize that the company had surrounded him in their concern. Balin was the one to see what was wrong, and to kick fresh snow over the offending spot, breaking Bilbo's gaze and releasing him from the nightmare. The hobbit shrank down into himself, remaining oddly quiet for the rest of the night, unable or simply unwilling to explain the reason for his lapse in concentration. He gave only the smallest of smiles when the four youngest members of the company piled around him at night in a show of solidarity, their presence bringing him comfort.

By morning he was back to himself, whistling a cheery tune as he again banished the darkness to a corner of his mind where it could remain unheeded. The group moved on, the weather changed from snow to rain, and the episode was mostly forgotten.

All too soon they had much more pressing concerns when the weather took a turn for the worse. The rain pounded down relentlessly, blinding them and making the narrow path treacherously slippery. Thunder boomed overhead, the sound deafening, and lightning threw their surroundings into blinding clarity every few seconds, leaving them blinking away stars as they stumbled along.

"I've found a cave!" Thorin called from the front of the group, nearly screaming to be heard. "We must get into shelter!" Those who heard him sighed in relief, staggering after their leader to get out of the elements. They were nearing the entrance when the skies split right over their heads, a streak of lightning shattering the path with a terrible crack and splitting the group in two. The ones on the wrong side of the gap began jumping across, thankful that the distance was manageable. There were a few close calls, but no end of grasping arms on the other side, ready and waiting to catch them and pull their brothers to safety. Bilbo was the last one, and he eyed the drop with narrowed gaze, jaw set as he took a few steps back to get a running start. Setting his feet, he broke into a sprint, gasping when his foot skidded in a patch of water on the very last step. His balance thrown, he went toppling over the edge, the screams of his friends ringing in his ears...

Bilbo felt his heart in his throat, ignoring the way his hands were shredding as he grasped desperately for anything to slow his rapid descent. Somehow he managed to keep close to the rock wall, nearly screaming when his leg bashed against a bit of stone that was jutting out from the rest. He grabbed for it all the same, managing to catch his fingers on it for just a moment before the blood streaming from them loosened his grip. He could hear nothing now but the wild wind rushing past his ears, and felt he would surely die any moment, when he came to a pounding halt on a small ledge. For a long time he simply lay there, the pain threatening to overcome him. He tried calling upwards, but his voice was thin and he could not see farther than a few feet in the increasing darkness of night.

After awhile he sat up gingerly, head swimming, and tried to take stock of his injuries. His hands were a mess, and a bloody gash had opened up on his leg, small bits of rock embedded in the ruined skin. Trying to hold back a sob, he dug through his pack for the bandages he knew were in there, thanking the gods that it had stayed attached. Wrapping his hands was awkward, but he managed it, and once that was done he used the rest of his supply to wrap his leg, hoping that his unskilled job would hold.

The next order of business was to figure out how to get back to the group. He could see that there would be no going back the way he came. He had no rope for one, and with the state his hands were in he could barely hold his sword, never mind climb a cliff. Looking around, he noted that the ledge actually appeared to be a path, though it was pockmarked from storm damage and likely hadn't been used in quite some time. Shrugging, he followed it slowly, favoring his left leg as he limped along. The path meandered along the cliff side for a time before ending quite abruptly in another drop off that was even larger than the last. Groaning in dismay, Bilbo searched for a way out of his predicament, his sharp eyes just catching sight of a small crack in the rock itself. Beyond it lay only darkness, but it seemed to be a path leading into the mountains, a path just large enough for a hobbit. Drawing his sword in shaking hands, Bilbo ventured into the shadows of the mountain...

Up above in a small cave, the company was sitting frozen in shock and grief. Ori was crying, clinging to his brothers, and Fili, Kili and Frerin looked very close to doing the same. Thorin could not stop the pounding in his head, voiceless words incessantly repeating the damning phrase. ' _Your fault. Your fault_.' He had allowed the hobbit to come with them, he had not made sure the smaller being could get across. He had failed the only child of his wife's cousin. The knowledge of such innocent life wasted lay heavily on his shoulders, dragging him into a brooding silence.

"Balin, is there any chance...?" Kili spoke up hesitantly.

The elder dwarf sighed deeply. "No my lad, best not to hope. No one could have survived that fall."

Silence returned, punctuated only by the muffled sounds of sorrow that echoed through the cave, dying down to nothing as the exhausted company succumbed to sleep. The last of them was just drifting off when a sharp crack jerked them back to wakefulness and the ground dropped from under them...


	12. Trapped!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The realms of the Goblin King and other dark places.

Down they tumbled, the dark giving way slowly to flickering torchlight. With many groans their descent came to an abrupt end, a shoddy wooden platform catching them up in a pile. They did not have time even to right themselves before they were set on by hordes of goblins, screeching in triumph as they secured their newest prisoners. The dwarves fought as they could, punching and kicking whenever they had the room, but their struggles were mostly in vain, the enemy overpowering them and dragging them along rickety bridges and stone tunnels. A few fell over the edge in the tussle, several more promptly taking their places in a burgeoning mass.

The light increased, as did the sound, and they were thrust forward into a massive cavern and tugged to a stop before the throne of the goblin king himself. Lesser goblins thronged on every available surface, beating on makeshift instruments and singing in painfully off-key voices, the words a garbled promise of torture and death. The goblin king heaved his bulk off the chair he was seated on, nearly crushing several minions in the process and smashing aside any that did not move fast enough.

"Who dares come armed into my realm?" he rumbled menacingly, eyeing them the way one might stare at a gnat.

"Dwarves your malevolence," came the shrill reply from one of the smaller creatures who was presently staring at the company hungrily.

"Dwarves eh? Search them! Every crack, every crevice!" the king ordered, watching as their packs were stripped from them and added to the pile of weapons that had been confiscated when they first landed. Once they were naked of any means to defend themselves the king addressed them directly. "Now then, what are you doing here? Speak fast, and do not try my patience! My people are hungry." The smaller goblins laughed excitedly at his joke.

"We were just trying to get shelter from the storm," Bofur spoke up loudly. "We have to cross the mountains you see, to get to our kin in the iron hills."

The goblin stared at him, eyes narrowed in contemplation before he shook his head with an evil smile. "Nope, I don't believe you." Silence met his accusation, none of the group daring to give their true purpose, and the delay sent the goblin into a fit of rage. "Fine. IF you will not talk we will make you squawk! Bring forth the bone breaker! Start with the youngest!"

Frerin was bodily dragged out of the protesting group, only the trembling in his hands betraying his fear. He glanced back at Thorin once, managing only the slightest shake of his head. The order was clear. Do not give in for him, he would be strong and endure. Forced into a kneeling position, his protective layers were stripped off, leaving bare skin from the waist up. His arms were stretched between two goblins, hindering his movement, but he kept his head up, glaring balefully at the hated enemy. Holding a whip in his hands, the goblin king circled him, using the end to almost gently caress the exposed flesh. "Why are you here?" he demanded, going back to his position in front of the crouching dwarf.

"I will tell you nothing!" Frerin snapped, creating enough saliva to spit in the king's direction.

With a sudden snap the lash hit his back, tearing a raw strip into his skin. Frerin jerked away, barely suppressing a scream. "Wrong answer," the king responded in a sing-song voice. Down came the lash again, and then a third time and a forth before the goblin paused again. "Why are you here?" His request was met with stony silence, Frerin clenching his jaw as he fought the pain.

Changing tactics, the goblin king tossed the whip aside and brought forth a twisted blade, dragging it across the fresh wounds. This time his charge was unable to hold in his agony, a shriek that ended in a moan leaving his lips. This was too much for the company to watch, Thorin felt his heart tearing at the sound of his son's pain."Stop!" He yelled, stepping forward from the middle of the group.

"Well if it isn't the king under the mountain!" The goblin sneered mockingly, motioning for his minions to release the shaking dwarf. They tossed him to the floor, throwing his clothes over him for the company to collect. They quickly recovered their wounded member, drawing him gently into the center of the group and carefully redressing him. Frerin stayed wrapped in the embrace of his cousins, using them for support as Thorin faced down the king. "But I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain, and you're not a king, so that makes you... nobody really." Thorin ground his teeth at the insult, every fiber of him screaming to tear the monster apart with his bare hands. He was just about to give in to the ill-advised urge when a flash of light and a shockwave sent everyone in the vicinity to their knees.

Gandalf had come at last, and the group lost no time in gathering their weapons and charging out of the caves, the wizard leading them unerringly towards the light, and safety.

Meanwhile in a darker, deeper area of the mountain, Bilbo was stumbling along with his sword out in front of him. He could hear distant screeching, and the weapon was glowing faintly. ' _Goblins_.' he thought to himself with a curse. But not too near to him if the sword was to be believed, so he stayed calm and crept along as silently as he could. Thankfully the tunnel he was following appeared only to go one way, so he did not have to fear getting lost, or at least not any more lost than he already was.

His heart suddenly leaped into his throat when a shuffling noise reached his ears. Hardly daring to breathe, Bilbo peeked cautiously around the next bend, catching sight of a curious looking creature. It was mumbling to itself and dragging something along, and it appeared not to notice when something small and shiny fell out of the ragged cloth that was its only covering, coming to a bouncing stop before Bilbo's feet. The hobbit stooped and picked it up with clumsy fingers, nearly dropping it before it accidentally slipped onto the only finger he had left unbandaged.

He felt his breath catch as the world took on a ghostly pallor, the walls wavering and surprisingly making it easier to see by a fraction. Creeping along again, he followed the path, being careful to leave a fair distance between himself and the strange creature. It did not occur to him for even a moment to return the lost item, something he would have found strange any other day, but he had bigger concerns at the moment and he felt the trinket might be useful.

Bilbo clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back a shout of pain when he stumbled on a loose stone in the path, stiffening as the creature paused in front of him. It dropped its bundle, turning and _staring right through him!_ ' _How odd_ ,' Bilbo thought uneasily when his heart had retreated to its normal place in his chest. It appeared the creature could not see him at all, and he felt he must have the ring to thank for that. He did not pause to wonder at his good fortune, but kept up the pace when the creature returned to what it was doing with a shrug. When the path came to a sudden fork he did not hesitate to follow the one opposite to the creature, and he was grateful for his choice later when it began to lead steadily upwards, a thin beam of light penetrating the foggy darkness that he had gotten used to.

His pace quickened as he heard a frightful shriek from behind, panicking at the thought of being caught down there in the dark. Running as fast as his wounded leg would take him he burst out of the mountain, nearly becoming blinded by the light of the setting sun that was now directly in his eyes. He could hear voices that he recognized up ahead, and almost sobbed in relief. His companions had made it out and he was so very close to them.

In a clearing halfway down the mountain the group was regathering from their flight. Gandalf counted them as they ran past, turning every which way when his count ended at fourteen. "Where is Bilbo?" he called out. "Where is the hobbit?" The wizard's face fell when Thorin appeared to crumple, the reminder of their loss cutting like a knife.

"The storm knocked him off the cliff," he ground out heavily. "He is lost."

"No, he isn't," Bilbo cried out, slipping his ring into a pocket and stepping out from around a tree. The company gaped openly at him.

"Bilbo!?" they all yelled at once, surrounding him in glee.

"You fell!" Thorin choked out, disbelief coloring his voice. "How did you get back?"

Bilbo chuckled, thinking back on his little adventure with a wince. "That I did. I got lucky I suppose. I landed on another path far below yours, and with no other option I followed it, and here I am!" Absentmindedly he patted the pocket containing his new treasure, deciding to keep it a secret, and missing the knowing gleam in Gandalf's eyes.

"Well," the wizard sighed in relief. "You are back, and that is all that matters."  
"You're injured lad!" Oin cried out, seeing the bandages plastered over Bilbo's hands and leg. The lower one was oozing blood and throbbing mightily, but the hobbit had not had a chance to stop and see to it, and when a sudden howl broke the silence he sighed in near exasperation. He would not get to see to it now either.

"No time for that!" he yelled, joining the group in running away from the approaching hunters.


	13. Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clifftop confrontations trigger an unusual reaction in one of the company...

Thorin Oakenshield was livid. The vicious howls of wargs rent the air, following the company's panicked flight down the mountain. He could see the unmasked fear in the eyes of the younger members of the group, he watched as Frerin and Bilbo were both being bodily dragged along, unable to keep up with their injuries. Bilbo, so newly returned to them, and already they were in even worse danger than a simple storm. He felt the fear in his own chest at the thought of what would happen should they be caught, and it only fueled his anger. He detested the unpleasantness of fear, and the shame it still brought him, as silly as it was.

The group was going on pure adrenaline now. After a sleepless night and little food for the past day it was the only thing to keep their flagging limbs moving. When Gandalf yelled for them to get into the trees, it was only terror that forced their heavy arms to grasp the branches that would shelter them. They ended up with seconds to spare before the hunters were at their feet, the wargs working themselves into a frenzy as they attempted to drag down their prey. The dark sound of black speech joined in their disjointed howling, a further group of mounted enemies following their servants.

A short burst of the horrid language roared over the cacophony, bringing with it an eerie silence and the wargs temporary retreat. Orcs directed their mounts to the sides, leaving a sort of aisle through which a creature from nightmares arrived. Thorin could feel his heart drop at the sight. The pale orc, very much alive, riding a massive white warg and sporting a satisfied sneer.

"Azog," he whispered. "It cannot be..." He found himself unable to look away, or even blink, wondering if perhaps he was just trapped in a bad dream. Maybe if he pinched himself he would awaken. His nemesis cackled, rumbling out a series of taunts from the sound of it, and Thorin caught his own name among the mess, along with his father's. His eyes narrowed in instant fury that the disgusting creature before him dared to utter that name. Only the restraining hand of whoever was next to him stopped him from losing it completely and launching himself out of the tree to kill Azog right then and there.

The pale orc delighted in his assumed victory for another moment before issuing a command that had the wargs attacking once more. No more breath was wasted on howls or taunts. The orcs sat back and watched as the wargs proceeded to throw themselves up the side of the trees, gripping the branches with strong jaws and ripping them off. They snapped at the heels of the company, unable to reach them and becoming increasingly frustrated.

Suddenly they changed tactics, and the trees began to shudder violently as the large beasts hurled their full weight against them. Creaks and groans ripped from the base of the dwarves sanctuary as it began swaying dangerously, and they were soon forced to jump for another perch. One by one natures monoliths tumbled to the ground, giving way before the assault and leaving only the last of the trees, right at the edge of the cliff. The group tried not to look down, several of them failing to do just that and blanching at the steep drop below.

"Fili! Kili!" Gandalf called down from his position at the very top of the tree. The two looked up, catching the burning cones he tossed down to them and immediately catching on to his plan when he flung his own out at the enemy. They quickly made more, passing the projectiles around and creating a veritable fire storm before them. Wargs fled, snarling in pain and fear of the flames, and Azog now looked outraged at having been thwarted, however temporarily it might be. As long as the fire burned the group was safe, for the orcs would not pass the heat of the flames.

They were just beginning to cheer victoriously when the last sound they had wanted to hear rang out over the crackling of the fire. Moaning in defeat, their tree was beginning to tip precariously towards the gorge, sending the group into an unbalanced tumble as they fought to secure their grip. Due to chance, or luck, their two injured members ended up on top of the tree, and Frerin let out an audible gasp when his hands came in contact with the bark. He felt as if a spark was connecting him to the tree, a surge of energy leaving him as the fall came to an abrupt halt. The roots were holding, and his hands almost seemed to glow faintly, a green luminescence flowing from his fingertips.

"I don't know what is happening!" he cried out.

"Whatever it is, keep doing it laddie!" Balin chuckled, brushing aside his worry and curiosity for a later time. Under his enthusiastic prompting Frerin slammed both hands onto the trunk, creating as much contact as he was able, and trying to ignore the rush of dizziness that accompanied this new phenomenon.

At his back Thorin was fuming, angry that Azog's good mood had returned at their predicament. Taking a deep breath, he deliberately straightened to his feet, balancing on the trunk as he stalked towards firmer ground. His sword was out, the shield that was his namesake clutched protectively in the other hand. He was going to end this, and he was going to end it now. Azog's delight seemed to increase with his proximity, and both charged simultaneously. Thorin wasn't really sure how it happened, but he was on the ground in seconds, at a clear disadvantage. His fury peaking, he felt as if he were seeing red when he lurched to his feet, facing off against the orc once more.

Again he was felled, the mace that Azog held in one clawed fist driving him into the dirt. He could dimly hear screaming past the ringing in his ears, and he tried to get up, but he couldn't seem to make his body work. All he knew was pain, the sudden flaring agony of warg fangs encasing his chest, and the whirling sensation of being airborne. Swinging out, he felt his sword connect with flesh, the shock ringing up his arm, followed by a brief moment of flying before he was jarringly reunited with the ground. His weapon had left his hand, his vision was swimming, and he fought off the fear of inevitability as he grasped at the dirt, trying to find anything to use in his defense against the orc sword that now rested on his neck. The last thing he saw was a small figure knocking the enemy to the ground before his world faded to black...

Bilbo swallowed heavily past the lump in his throat, trying to settle his racing heart as he got shakily to his feet. He could see that he was the only one with a chance of saving Thorin. Frerin was the only other one on the top of the tree, but he was busy holding off their imminent demise by falling, so he drew his sword and muttered a prayer. He broke into a stumbling run, his leg screeching in protest at every step, but the pain was worth it when he got to the orc just in time to shove it out of the way. Bilbo had no time to even think, letting out years of rage and pain on the unfortunate creature for what had been done to his family, both old and new. He smiled grimly at that thought. His new family, for that they were, at least to him. He would not fail to protect them again.

With a yell, several of the other company members joined the fight, finally managing to get free. They dodged fire and orc blades, battling with the single goal of defending their wounded king. Bilbo had shrunk back, lowering himself to the ground as his leg gave way, but still keeping his body between the helpless Thorin and the enemy.

Over on the tree Frerin was losing his own battle, his face going pale as his energy depleted at an alarming rate. "Gandalf, I can't hold it!" he cried in a strained whisper, falling forward as his eyes shut against his will. His face smashed against the trunk, and his last thought was of pain as his tongue got trapped between his teeth. The tree let go, roots tearing free of the earth and spinning towards the ground as its occupants were plucked from the death trap by monstrous eagles. Gandalf sighed in relief, his plan had come to fruition just in time, and the company was borne away, leaving behind a furiously roaring Azog and his scattered forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frerin's abilities will be explained later at some point I promise. There is a reason they haven't come up until now, though it may be awhile until I get to it.


	14. Shieldbrothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Injuries are tended, and new familial bonds created.

Flying through the air would have been an exhilarating experience for Fili and Kili if the two people they cared most for were not currently on death's door. The duo sat pressed together on the back of a massive eagle, staring ahead at their uncle and cousin and praying for movement, hearts in their throats. Neither of them knew the cause for Frerin's motionless state, so they were understandably afraid that they had failed to protect their cousin. It made for a tense hour as they were brought to safety far from the site of the battle.

When at last the eagles showed signs of slowing, they were deposited on a pinnacle of rock at the edge of the misty mountains, a forest surrounding its base like an ocean below. Frerin and Thorin were the first to be placed down, the two remaining where they were, still dead to the world. Gandalf followed closely behind, as did Bilbo, and the two hurried to check on their youngest member first. A quick glance at his softly moving chest reassured the wizard that Frerin was in no immediate danger, and he said as much quickly. Bilbo sank down beside his friend with a sigh of relief, unable to bear the thought of standing again for a long while. His leg had gone partially numb from the cold air, but the rest of it was a fiery pain, the ragged bandage threatening to fall off entirely.

Leaving Bilbo to watch over Frerin, Gandalf rushed to Thorin's side, feeling a growing concern when the dwarf made no indication of still living. His chest was unmoving, his wounds ever so slowly leaking blood. It would have appeared that he was sleeping if not for the lack of breath.

"Thorin," Gandalf called urgently, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. There was no response, so, drawing on some of his power, Gandalf laid a hand over Thorin's face and muttered a few words. He exhaled when the dwarf's eyes fluttered slowly open, letting out the breath he had been holding and smiling widely.

Thorin stared up at the wizard hazily, trying to recall what series of events had led to his current position. He could see clouds and a sky bright with sunrise. No more fire, no orcs or wargs, no battle. Bilbo had saved him... "Bilbo?" he asked worriedly, fearing the hobbit had been lost in his foolish attempt at heroism.

Gandalf's face was relaxed. "Bilbo is here, he is quite safe."

Turning his head to the side, he could see the hobbit resting against a boulder, his son nearby. His heart twisted then, at the paleness of Frerin's face, and the trickle of blood on the corner of his mouth. Thorin did not even consider the fact that neither Gandalf or Bilbo appeared distraught, he felt certain something had happened. "Frerin?" he whispered hoarsely, fear jerking him to his feet when the young one did not respond. He lurched over to them, placing a hand on his shoulder and jumping when Frerin groaned and rolled to face him.

Frerin cracked one eye open. "'M fine adad, just tired," he mumbled.

"You could be bleeding internally," Thorin protested, looking anxiously still at the blood that was trickling out of Frerin's mouth.

The younger one shook his head in denial. "Bit m' tongue," he explained. "Jus' wanna sleep."

Thorin chuckled in relief. "Alright then, if you say so I believe you." He carded a hand through Frerin's hair, smiling when his son drifted off into a calm slumber. Once Frerin was deeply asleep Thorin turned to Bilbo, a medley of emotion taking over him. The hobbit was regarding him warily, perhaps expecting a rebuff for his reckless charge, but that was the furthest thing from Thorin's mind. "Are you alright?" Thorin asked him in concern.

Bilbo nodded, giving a little shrug. "As well as may be considering what we just went through," he admitted, shifting his leg with a slight wince. "I'm glad to see you back with us, I was getting worried for a moment there," he confessed.

Thorin shook his head, a wry smile crossing his face for the selflessness of the small man. Lacking the proper words to express his gratitude, he pulled Bilbo into a firm embrace. "I cannot thank you enough for what you did," he said roughly. "Truly you are one of us, brother." His term of endearment was met with several gasps from their audience, and Bilbo glanced up at them in shock, noting that they appeared surprised but not displeased. He felt this was a momentous thing to have been said, and a surge of warmth filled him at the idea that his wish for a family was reciprocated.

"You think of me as a brother?" he whispered, a brilliant smile lighting his face.

Thorin nodded regally. "Yes. In fact..." He reached up, unclasping one of the silver beads that held his braid closed. The metal rolled into his palm, and he offered the token to the wide-eyed hobbit. "I would be honored to call you family."

Bilbo stared at it in fascination. "What do the markings mean?" he asked curiously.

"They are the symbols of my house," Thorin explained. "This is the rune of Durin. It will let any dwarf know that you are tied into my family."

"Thank you," Bilbo murmured, swiping at his eyes when they welled up a little with the emotion of the moment. He flushed then, appearing uncertain. "Umm, Thorin? I can't say as I know how to braid like you. I've never done it before."

The dwarf chuckled. "I can help with that, and I'm sure my nephews would enjoy teaching you."

"Of course!" Fili and Kili broken in with an excited clamor. "Anything for our new Uncle Bilbo!" Their positive reaction garnered a laugh from the rest of the group, and they sat to watch as Thorin expertly wove a quick plait into Bilbo's short hair. The clasp gleamed in its place at the end, looking slightly out of place on a hobbit, but Bilbo found he quite enjoyed it. It made him feel like he really fit in. As usual Gandalf presided over all, looking as pleased as if he had arranged the whole thing himself.

"Now then, let's see to that leg laddie," Oin broken in sternly, pulling out what was left of his supplies. Bilbo obligingly kept his leg straight in front of him, leaving the healer plenty of room to work. The rough bandage was stripped, some of the group hissing in sympathy at the gruesome wound. With great care Oin picked the stray bits of gravel out of the injury before washing it off with some water from his canteen. He had lost all his salve, but there was enough fresh linen strips to re-wrap the wound, where it would hopefully keep until they could resupply. His hands also were looked over, though he had to turn away when the wrappings were removed, feeling a little sick at the sight.

Bilbo sighed in relief when it was done. "Thank you Oin," he said gratefully. "That does feel better." The healer snorted, certain that his ministrations would have offered little in the way of comfort, but the hobbit appeared determined to make the best of things. It was an admirable trait. Once he was settled again with his back against a rock Oin tended to Thorin and Frerin. They would have only a short time to rest before they felt pressured to move on, so the healer did what he could in the time allowed.


End file.
